“Seriously?” she asked, not fully believing him.
He nodded.
“A doorman is so fancy. I have only a keypad,” she said, making the silly face that usually worked to make the boys laugh.
Travis didn’t laugh. But his lips twitched, so she’d call it a win.
“I usually just use the garage opener,” she said, as they dance-moved closer to the edge of the dance floor. “But the keypad works on the front and back doors. It’s, uh, four-zero-six-nine.”
“Four, zero, six, nine,” he repeated.
She’d given him the code before—the night he brought her margaritas and she’d crashed on the sofa. This time, though, when she gave him the numbers, it felt like more.
They were, somehow, a promise she was making.
“I can write it down for you,” she said. “Or the boys know. They’re sworn to secrecy,though, so they probably won’t say anything, even if you ask.”
He grinned. Knowing Travis, he’d test them on that later.
“And…uh…just to be clear,” she chattered on.“We’re not seeing other people while we’re seeing each other, right?”
“Do you want to see other people?” he volleyed back. He looked as though he absolutely did not want that.
“No,” she said, remarkably fast. “I was hoping this was exclusive.”
“Me too.” He spoke against her forehead.
“Good. Exclusive is good.” She did the whacky face thing again.
Gah, she had to stop doing that when they were talking about serious stuff.
“Exclusive is the best.” He gave her a squeeze.
“I’m clean, too,” she said. “And I have the birth control thing covered. I mean, uh, Ireallydo this time. Not like when I was in college. And I had a physical right before we left Denver. All good on that front.”
She might as well have given him two perky thumbs up to top off that morbidly embarrassing data dump.
The song stopped, but they stayed together, holding each other until the next song started. The band played a new rendition of a Bellamy Brothers song she recognized about a man holding a woman against him.
“I’m clean, too, Rach,” he said. “If this is your way of asking.”
Well, it was. A very uncomfortable way of asking.
He hummed along to the song, apparently waiting to see if she had anything else she wanted to add.
She did, more embarrassing data she needed to dump. Get it all over with in one night.
“If you want to, uh, not use a condom,” she whispered so only he could hear. “Then we…we can just not do that.” She met his gaze. “If you want to,” she added as a quick addendum to her declaration.
“Is that what you want?” he asked, and his words were remarkably neutral given that she’d just embarrassed the hell out of herself.
For a moment, she stood still, not moving to the music.
“Sorry?” she asked, seeming to not understand his question.
“What do you want, Rach?” he asked. “Whatever you want, we’ll do that. I believe you when you say you’ve got it covered. If you want me to cover it, just let me know.”
“You don’t have an opinion on this?” She pulled back from him, earnest.Do you just not care?
